Chapter Seventeen
“Kate, love,” Marcus said as he entered the bookstore, “you look like a faded rose.”
“Lack of sleep will do that.” The computer was slow to restart. The monitor still dark. Kate put down the cloth-bound edition of fairy tales she was holding, ready to catalogue.
“Something on your mind?” Marcus slid the fairy tales toward him and thumbed through the illustrations. Delicate pen-and-ink figures seemed to dance across the pages.
“The usual. Finding a corpse. Worrying about Great-aunt Roselyn. She’s started misplacing things more often. She sets something down, then forgets where she’s put it. I think it upsets her more than she lets on.” Kate hit a key and looked at the screen. Still nothing.
“At least it’s a becoming pallor. More pre-Raphaelite than Victorian consumptive.” Marcus closed the book. “Have you spoken to your mum about Roselyn?”
“She called the store about half an hour ago. I couldn’t talk long but it was a nice surprise. She and Dad have been looking at flights. They’re thinking of visiting over Christmas.”
“Good. Then you won’t have to deal with it all on your own. Busy today?”
“It’s been quiet for a Saturday morning. I’m expecting a collector later, though.”
Marcus leaned against the counter, and crossed his legs. “Did you hurt your hand?”
Kate glanced down. Tinge of blue across the knuckles. “You should see the other guy.” She grinned.
Marcus chuckled, then stopped when he saw her face. “Hold on, you’re serious? You punched someone?”
The bell above the door chimed. A customer. “Hold that thought.” Sun in her eyes, spilling through the open door. A man, features a dark blur with the light behind. Not tall, but broad shouldered. Her skin prickled. The next second, he’d turned to leave.
“He saw you, now he’s fleeing,” Marcus observed. “Was he the one you hit?”
“It must be the pallor.”
Halfway out the door, the man turned back.
The glare faded and a jolt of recognition hit. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing over Mr. Wendell’s body. “Dr. Garreth?” He was walking toward them with a determined stride. Flash of a morgue through her mind, a medley of voices discussing stomach contents, blood samples. Something read and forgotten.
Marcus shot her a glance. “A doctor. The pathologist that issued the death certificate?”
She nodded.
Marcus stood. “How do you do?”
The doctor looked Marcus up and down, from his carefully pressed shirt sleeves to his leather brogues. “The wife wants some books.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” She gestured at the shelves. Just books then, not questions. For now, anyway.
The doctor took in his surroundings. The same careful precision he had applied to the examination of human remains. “I’ve seen corpses that deal with death better than my wife does with a common cold. I’ve got a list.” Some customers saved lists on their phones. The doctor pulled a scrap of lined paper from his pocket. “Not the kind I’d buy.”
Bodice-rippers? The writing was neat, each line spaced carefully. Five titles in total. Chick lit. Most were in stock. “Let’s see what I can find.” Kate took down a copy here, a copy there until she had a stack in her arms. She set the books down on the counter. All paperback.
He looked at them, then back at her. “This one is pink!” The jacket blurb had him rubbing his forehead. “Shopping, affairs. Jesus.”
Marcus choked on a chuckle, turned it into a cough.
The door opened and a woman entered the store.
“Welcome to Fortune’s Cove Books.” Kate smiled her shopkeeper’s smile.
Dr. Garreth turned too quickly, his elbow brushing the stack of books. It wobbled dangerously. He flushed crimson.
“Which ones would you like?” Kate waited.
“These two.” He pushed them toward her, shifting to block the counter from view.
Kate turned to her computer to enter the first ISBN. The screen was black with white text. Operating System not found. Not found? She clicked the mouse. Nothing.
Marcus looked over her shoulder. “Problem?”
She gestured at the screen. “Any brilliant ideas?”
“None. On the plus side, it doesn’t sound like it’s going to explode.”
Soon she’d splurge for something shiny and new. And compact.
“I could give you a name,” Dr. Garreth said. “For a discount.”
“A name?”
“Someone who could fix that.” He nodded at the computer.
“I could just call a technician.”
“Mine’s cheaper.”
“What kind of a discount?”
“Ten percent.”
Kate did a quick tally. The profit margin was high enough. “Deal.” She took out a calculator and wrote up a sales invoice. Pen and paper never failed. “Tell me the name and you’ll get your discount.”
He smiled. “The lad who works for me paid his way through med school fixing computers.”
“Jeremy?”
“Talks binary code on the weekend, blood and tissue samples during the week. Charges less than an expert.” He jotted a cell number on the back of his wife’s list and handed it to her, along with the money owed.
It wouldn’t hurt to save the service fee. “If he can’t fix it, I can always get a professional to look at it. I hope your wife enjoys the books.” He didn’t leave. “Was there something else?” A cadaver on a slab. Shears opening the chest cavity, laying organs bare.
“A bag.” He pointed at the multi-hued books, the shoes and slender cartoon girls.
“Right.” She chose one from beneath the counter. Shoes. A floral motif. The shoelace in the kitchen. “Are you missing a shoelace? We found one in the yard after you left.” Near the house. In the bush by the terrace.
“Never wear laces on the job.” He took the bag from her. “Don’t want them trailing over the ground, soaking up blood and bile.” He stepped back and she caught sight of his shoes. Sensible loafers.
“It was just a thought.” The door closed behind him. If the lace wasn’t his, whose was it?
Marcus took her hand and studied the bruise again. “Why, if I may ask?”
The steep stairs. The sudden hold on her arm. “He startled me.”
“Poor soul. Him, not you.”
“It felt like I was being followed.” The footsteps echoing behind her.
“Kate.” Marcus shook his head. “This is a sign you should intersperse crime with romance.”
“I assume you mean genres?”
“Do I?” He raised an eyebrow.
Kate laughed. “You’re—”
“Wonderful?”
“Incorrigible.”
“So who was your victim?”
“Gary Fenris.”
Marcus thought for a moment. “Why do I know that name?”
“The security company.”
“Oh yes. Fenris Securities.” He whistled through his teeth. “And you got a punch in? Not bad, Kate.”
“Thank you.” It was the kiss she remembered.
“Speaking of chiseled features,” Marcus drawled as he threw himself into an armchair. “I had the most delicious encounter yesterday while I was showing an, in my opinion, overpriced apartment. Do you want all the gory details?”
“Spare nothing.” Then she’d dial the number Dr. Garreth had given her.